


The Fox and the Grapes

by thehomefucker



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehomefucker/pseuds/thehomefucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, what a surprise.” There is someone on the floor of your bedroom. The carpets aren’t clean and your crotch is tight and someone’s in your room on the floor. Aoba cowers in the bed, flat against the headboard. You want to bite something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fox and the Grapes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cognitive Dissonance](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/63255) by PeppermintBee. 



> This is a short epilogue written for tumblr user Peppermintbee after discussing what would happen after her recent comic fades to black; took an hour to write. For context, please view the original work [here](http://peppermintbee.tumblr.com/post/92606453501/thehomefucker-peppermintbee-cognitive).

You don’t notice much when you enter the home you share with your Light and your Pet other than the buckled door but you both still point your handguns as you advance because that’s what Virus did first. The entryway is clean. Pictures still hang; Virus says they’re expensive but art isn’t your interest, neither is petty theft, so you can’t confirm their burglar-appeal. Everything is in its place as you pass through the foyer. Though your home’s silent alarm sent your Coil blaring some fifteen-odd minutes ago and the door is caved-in, you wonder if it might have been another instance of Welter’s boredom gone rogue but the thought passes and you realize your Light has stopped walking halfway into the sitting room.

“What a mess.” Virus mutters. He’s pulling up his lips, sneering down at his shoe. You’re so accustomed to blood you don’t quite register it’s there, everywhere, big opulent glittering puddles of it, until Virus makes some offhanded comment about hardwood stain removal.

Those blood patterns are familiar; someone got stabbed. You gulp down your excitement. Something giggles at the base of your neck.

“Trip.” You follow the glance of your Light to a discarded kimono further in the room. It hurts to look at the way it lays. Crumpled like a kicked-over sandcastle. Kinda green-hued, to you, the color of toddler vomit. The same texture, too. There are blood trails beyond it.

Virus marches along them and into your room. You follow a step behind, dizzy, half hard, little flies chattering on the fringes of your mind. The air’s hanging smell is heady, saccharine, and you hope Aoba had the foresight to prepare himself this morning because you’re going to fuck him against your mirrors, even if he does get fingerprints on them, until they shatter into his back but it really doesn’t matter in the end he’s in fine health and can take it, prepped or not.

“Well, what a surprise.” There is someone on the floor of your bedroom. The carpets aren’t clean and your crotch is tight and someone’s in your room on the floor. Aoba cowers in the bed, flat against the headboard. You want to bite something.

“Aoba-san, is this yours?”

Your Pet shakes his head.

“Then he must be Trip’s.” You remove the safety from your gun. There’s a lead-colored crow in your mind making a particular amount of noise, droning out the word or two that tumbles from the stranger’s mouth. They were inconsequential, Crow says as you squat beside the intruder and fix the barrel to his temple. His terror tastes like cloves and cigarettes.

“Bye bye.”

The thunder makes Aoba tremble. Your ears prickle, there are brains on your waistcoat, it’s a bit hard to hear for a minute or two and you’re not sure if you’re deaf from the shot or the birdsong chittering in your head.

“You did well,” Virus says. “So well you might even deserve a treat. Trip, will you bring us Ren-san?”

Aoba flickers a little, goes static. You don’t know what that means but it never happens to Virus so you do as your told, tracking blood and grey matter as you fetch a gift from the safe in the basement. You bring back the dog carcass the two of you gutted some years ago and award it to Aoba. He’s shaking but not like a human more like an image seen through water. 

“Isn’t it pretty, Aoba-san?”

You nod, you think it’s pretty. Your Light threads a hand through its fur. Where he passes the hairs glow.

“Why don’t you play with him a while,” Virus dips his glimmering fingers into the cavity cut along the little dog’s belly. “Trip and I need to get back to our work.”


End file.
